SCREWED, DUDE, AND TATTOOED!
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: The Winchesters are about to hunt a Spriggan and Dean is in no way happy with the lengths he must go through to be the bait. Sam is far more pragmatic about the whole situation. This is an odd one, folks. Rated K Plus for mild swearing.


Disclaimer: To my everlasting despair, I own nothing related to Supernatural.

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**SCREWED, DUDE, AND TATTOOED!**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

"Wait—you have to do what again?" Dean's eyebrows catapulted toward his hairline.

Sam huffed out a breath and repeated himself. "I have to make a mixture of henna, lemon juice, blueberry juice, beet juice, turmeric, and sugar then paint it on your chest and stomach in this pattern right here." Sam pointed at a drawing in the book on the table.

Dean eyes narrowed. "And why does it have to be me?"

"Because the book says it has to be—and I quote—'a comely, dutiful man of short hair and short stature'."

A scowl darkened Dean's face. "I am not short!"

"Well, you're shorter than me! And so is your hair."

"I still don't get why it has to be me."

"I'm just telling you what it says, Dean. The Spriggan will be attracted to the sigil—it's like an X that marks the spot."

"Why can't we just paint it on the ground? Or on a tree?"

"No can do. It has to be on a…"

"I know, I know…a comely, dutiful man of short hair and short stature." Dean finished with a dismissive wave. "Whatever. So I attract it—then what?"

Sam glanced down at the book. "While it's mesmerized by you…"

"…and if that doesn't sound all kinds of wrong…" mumbled Dean.

"I need to bind it to the engraved rock to keep it from 'swelling to an enormous size'…

Ignoring Dean's dirty-minded snort, Sam continued, "…and toss the rock into the nearest body of water 'wherein the Spriggan will cease to exist after a period not less than six Sundays'."

Resigned to his near-future fate, Dean sighed. "When?"

"Tonight."

"Oh, joy. Fine. Get the shit together and let's do this."

Having purchased all the items he needed earlier, Sam retrieved the bags and set about mixing all the ingredients in a small wooden bowl. Once everything was well combined, he picked up the small paintbrush and turned to Dean who sat slumped on the corner of his bed. Sam cleared his throat. "Okay—it's ready."

Dean stood with a grunt and removed his long-sleeved plaid shirt then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Now bare-chested he crawled up on the bed and lay down, watching Sam approach with the brush and bowl. "You're sure about this?"

"Yes."

Pulling a chair over, Sam eased down on the edge and leaned forward. He situated the book next to Dean's thigh before wetting the brush and starting to paint. The first few strokes went smoothly but as he got closer to Dean's belly button, his brother started to flinch and squirm.

"Dude, lay still! I can't paint with you moving so much."

Unclenching his jaw, Dean muttered, "Can't help it, dammit. It tickles!" He jerked and gasped when the paintbrush found a particularly sensitive spot.

Sam shook his head. "Well, do something because this needs to be perfect or it won't work."

Dean curled his hands into fists and bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing, fighting to keep still. "Man, this is so, so wrong!"

"It's not like it's fun for me either."

After several torturously long minutes, Dean spoke again. "Sam, put your tongue back in your mouth—you're creeping me out!"

Easing back a little, Sam lifted the brush. "What?"

"The tip of your tongue is sticking out of your mouth."

"Sorry—I was concentrating—this pattern is so intricate, I'm afraid I'll mess it up."

"Yeah, well, try to speed things up a little will you."

Sam went back to work, squinting between the book and Dean's stomach. Another 15 minutes passed before he sat back with a self-satisfied smile. "Got it."

"Good, can we go now?" Dean made a move to sit up.

Sam shook his head. "That was just the first part. Now I have to do your chest."

"Sonuvabitch." Dean reclined again. "All right, get a move on already!"

Stirring the henna mixture, Sam's gaze locked on Dean's chest.

"Stop staring at my perky nipples, you perv."

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed out, "Dude, gross! I'm not staring at your perky nipples. I was trying to figure out which way to paint these swirls."

"Did you just say swirls?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, God, just shoot me already."

"Relax. I'll be done soon."

"You better be."

Twenty minutes later, Sam finished with a flourish and sat back, triumphant. "Done!"

"Thank God." Dean scrambled off the bed. "I was starting to feel like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel." He grabbed for his t-shirt.

"Dean, no! You can't put that on. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"You have to let it dry."

Dean's shoulders dropped and he looked down at gaudy pattern painted on his body. His chin jerked up and he glared at his younger brother, a gathering storm of outrage flushing his face. "SAM, why is it all sparkly!?"

Sam shifted from foot-to-foot. "I…uhh…I…um…had to add some gilding paste."

"Gilding paste?" Dean growled.

The younger Winchester snatched up the book and held it defensively in front of him. He pointed to the page. "It says right here in the book, I swear!"

Dean stalked across the room and grabbed his beer off the table. He took a healthy swig. "How long till this shit dries?"

"Not long. Then we need to spray it with this." Sam held out a bottle of hair spray gel. "To seal it."

"Yay me—I get to look and smell like a girl. I can't wait to wash this stuff off after we're done."

Sam cleared his throat. "Wash it off? Uhh…Dean…it's basically a henna tattoo…"

Not liking the tone of Sam's voice, Dean's gaze narrowed. "And?"

"And it takes anywhere from 7 to 10 days for it to wear off."

"Seven to ten…oh for the love of—" Dean ran a hand down his face and then through his hair. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?" he accused with a scowl. "You couldn't have told me that before?"

"I thought you knew."

"Well, I didn't." Dean rubbed a finger over the rapidly drying "ink". "Shit. This really puts a crimp in my…extracurricular…activities. Can't let any lady see me like this."

Sam scoffed and began spraying the gel across his carefully-created artwork. "Just tell them you're into tribal art. They'll think you're edgy and cool."

A calculating look crossed Dean's face. "You think?"

Dean's gray t-shirt hit him square in the face.

**(SN) (SN) (SN)**

Sam followed the gurney into the ER cubicle and watched as the nurse began to cut away Dean's t-shirt so they could examine the branch currently puncturing Dean's side. The nurse glanced at Sam when Dean's elaborate "tattoo" became visible. One eyebrow catapillared upward. Sam shrugged and offered a half-smile. "My brother's into tribal art."

The hunt had gone pear-shaped just before Sam managed to bind the Spriggan to the rock, allowing the creature time to stab Dean with the crooked wooden skewer. While not life-threatening, the accompanying concussion and broken wrist had warranted the trip to the hospital.

"The doctor will be right in," announced the nurse as she scurried past him.

A groan garnered Sam's attention and he bent forward. "Hey, bro."

"Mmm." Dean's tongue darted out, licking at his lips. "S-S'mmm?"

"Yeah, dude, it's okay—we're at the ER. You'll be fine."

"S'm?"

"Yeah?"

"D-Doon't let 'em t-take off m'shirt. Th—they'll s-s-see I'm all s-spark-ly."

Sam couldn't help it; he chuckled. "Too late, big brother. Too late."

"D-Dammit."

_**FIN**_


End file.
